Danger Night, Some Morning
by MissMahjong
Summary: Whiskey, pot, coke and blues music are the comforts Sherlock has at the moment while dealing with the matrimony of his best friend. Platonic Johnlock. Warnings for drug and alcohol use.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

* * *

~ Danger Night, Some Morning

The only light in the flat was in Sherlock's room, on his night stand to the right side of his bed; giving light to the contents the lamp was sharing space with, a burned to the bud already smoked joint and it's fresh twin, a rectangle mirror glass with a razor on top, near a neat line of white powder, the other three lines having already been sniffed and a bottle of whiskey half way consumed; it was one of _those_ nights.

Danger nights, as his mates in Uni used to called them but this night was different, the soundtrack to this night was blues music, nothing but blues that resonated with his mood at the moment, dark, cynical and something else he didn't want to admit to his self. The music surrounded the room, feeling more like a lounge or club than a bedroom and at any moment he expected the police to find him and arrest him for drug possession and disturbing the peace.

Sherlock lit up the fresh joint, took a deep puff, held it in his lungs and exhaled, leaning back to his comfortable position against the headboard of his bed. Tuxedo undone so that he was only in his tux trousers and white dress shirt, buttoned closed mid way, leaving the top half open. He watched the smoke curl about the air before him until it disappeared, trying to blank out his mind about the life changing event that happened earlier. John's wedding, John's wedding to _her_, that succubus with a pleasant face, perfectly polite and delightful wit.

Oh Sherlock may have tolerated her far better than any of John's previous girlfriends but this one sunk her delicate claws into the ex-soldier's heart and chained him up with a simple gold band. No more short, assisting John to help him chase down the bad guys, no more John to state the obvious and more importantly, no more John to take care of him. Not that Sherlock needed any one to watch over him, he was a full-grown man after all, but the sentiment was nice. That dream died with a crash and burned as soon as John said 'I do', Sherlock should've objected when the moment approached but the shorter man looked so damn happy to be married to that sweet vixen, he couldn't do it.

Moving the joint to his left hand, he reached and grabbed the bottle of whiskey with his right, took two good swigs, cringing when the liquor burned down his throat and puffed again on his joint; noticing the sweetness of the pot mixing with the after taste of whiskey, an interesting combination. The detective was also feeling the combination of pot, whiskey and coke swirl around and effect his system, although he wanted nothing more than to delete today's events, the drugs in his body made him dwell on the wedding.

"Why marriage?" he mumbled out loud, taking anther drink from the bottle followed by joint puff. Sherlock could understand John having her as a girlfriend, seeing as she didn't get in the way of their cases but marriage? Getting married meant settling down, being domestic and worse, he shuddered, having children. Couldn't John just have _her_ as a life long girlfriend instead of moving in with her and living life with her?

"If he wanted marriage, why couldn't he marry m-no. No, you are going down that route, not tonight… Oh, who am I kidding, yes I am."

For the longest time, Sherlock knew John had a special place in his heart (locked up as it may be) but he has yet to identify _how_ is John in his heart? What's the man's purpose there and what is Sherlock going to do now? Thoughts roamed in and out of his mind, mingling with the music filling the room until one song begins and he feels a connection to it.

He sat up, putting the joint and whiskey bottle down before getting the mirror with its contents on top.

"One more line Ms. James." He spoke quietly, organizing the cocaine into a neat line with the razor. He leaned down and sniffed the powder, all of it.

"Oh god, that's… fuck." He sighed out.

He put the mirror back, taking up the joint and whiskey only to get up and launch himself some what haphazardly on to his bed, his head now near the foot board and his feet by the head board. Another puff and swig as he listened to the melodious voice sing a song of sorrow and heartbreak, in a small part of his mind and heart; he knew he could relate to the tragic tale in the song.

"You sing that Ms. James, you **siiinnng** that shit." He murmured, leaning up a bit to take a drink from the bottle and leaned back again to stare up.

The ceiling offered no comfort to his thoughts; the majority of them were focused on John, but why? Why did Sherlock feel like his relationship with John, whatever it was, was over? Why did John's marriage feel like a break up? So many questions and he wasn't sure on how to answer them. Along with his heavy thoughts, emotions were breaking through, the drugs affecting the wall that held the feelings in place. The song hit him deep and he gasped at the heaviness in his heart because he couldn't figure out how John was so important to him; Sherlock couldn't help but agree with the song.

"I think I'd rather go blind too, Ms. James." He said quietly, not noticing the lone tear escaping his right eye as he took another inhale, hold and exhale of his joint.

* * *

Lestrade entered Sherlock bedroom the next morning, taking in the mess of scattered clothes, books and papers all over the bedroom floor and the smell, whiskey, pot and something else. He tsked and finally caught sight of the splayed out form of Sherlock on the bed, lying on his stomach, normally curled posh hair a mess and still clutching an empty bottle of liquor in his left hand.

"Fucking Christ," the DI mumbled, bringing a hand up to rub over his face in resignation.

"Oi, Sherlock, wake up!" He shook the bed, the brunette on the bed just waking up and taking note of the human presences in his room.

"Hrmgnah, John?" Sherlock moved his head to fast, the room was spinning and he slowly turned his head towards the other, blinking a few times and cringing and the daytime sunlight.

"No, it's Greg." He dulled out.

"Lestrade, what are you doing here? Go way." Sherlock smothered his face in the blanket bundle he used for a pillow.

Greg relaxed his stance, leaning his weight to his right leg, hands in his pockets.

"You know, I would love to, seeing as it wasn't my idea to come here first thing in the morning but I can't leave now… You look like shit."

"Thank you… my, aren't you courteous. Is that how you greet all of your conquest the morning after?"

Greg rolled his eyes only to notice the mirror with the razor blade and a very familiar white powder substance.

"Is that what I think it is?"

The tall brunette rolled over on to his back, finding his previous position uncomfortable now, rubbing his face to wake up more.

"I will lie to your face now and say it's talcum powder."

"Sherlock?!"

Lestrade's tone and volume made him cringe.

"Not so loud."

"How much?"

Sherlock felt the gentle throbbing's of a headache coming one, he may have over did it.

"Just four lines worth."

"Just four lines worth?"

"Which is about a gram, but the prick may have fucked me over, £40, who pays that much for a gram?"

"You're a piece of work"

Sherlock leaned up a bit, eyeing Lestrade.

"Did John send you?"

"What?"

"You said it wasn't your idea to come here in the morning so did John send you?"

The DI sighed.

"Mrs. Hudson called John, after hearing some loud disturbances in here, but John was already in Paris so he rang me up and here I am."

"Oh _he_ still cares?" Sherlock struggled to get up but managed to position him self sitting down on the edge of the bed, slouching, a hand to his head to massage the oncoming hangover headache.

"Of course he cares Sherlock, he's your friend."

"Not so much any more."

"What do you mean?"

"He's married to that, **that** **succubus**!" Sherlock gesticulated wildly.

"Mary is hardly a succubus."

"Ha!"

"Are we even talking about the same Mary?"

"Petite blond female with a male beckoning giggle and razor sharp teeth then yes, we are."

Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock's description of Mary.

"Mary's nice."

"Yes… yes she is, which is how she managed to trap and caged John."

"Why does it matter to you? John is just a friend."

Sherlock looked over at Greg, making eye contact with him and Greg had a feeling of the truth behind Sherlock's behavior.

"Or is he more?"

"More?"

"Yeah, well, since we're on the subject, what are you?"

"A human male." The brunette dead panned.

"No, I mean, who catches your fancy, which way do you lean?"

"You're inquiring about my sexuality?"

"Yeah."

"Pfft! I have no sexuality." Sherlock smiled, bitterly.

"What?! Yes you do!"

"No, I don't. I have no desire in sex, it's a primitive activity, messy, troublesome and often results in screaming attachments." More hand motions to accommodate his list.

"Not between men." Lestrade mentioned with brows furrowed.

"It's messy and primal."

Moment of silence

"So… you don't find any one attractive?"

"No Lestrade, no one is interesting enough to titillate _that_ kind of attention."

"Except John." Greg quickly mentioned.

"Except Joh-" Sherlock glared at the DI, catching that quick suggestion.

"Look, I obviously don't know how your brain works,"

"Obviously." Sherlock mumbled but Greg continued.

"But I do know the look of some one who's been, well,"

"Well?"

"Heartbroken."

Ice blue eyes gave a Lestrade a scandalized stare

"Shut up! Don't make me sound like a smitten school girl."

"But you are."

"Shut your face!"

"Sherlock just admit it!"

Sherlock run is hands through his hair, an unconscious habit of being puzzled or cornered.

"I… I still don't know how I feel about him… feelings, emotions… not my area of expertise."

"But, you do feel something for him?"

"Yes, alright, I do… I can't identify it though; it is affection but what kind? I can't figure it out and it's driving me mad, I thought I had more time."

"Time?"

"Do keep up Lestrade, it's a rare moment when to open myself up, especially to _you_. I'm probably still drunk." Sherlock snapped and murmured the last part to him self.

"But since he's married now?" Greg hinted.

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me of that glaring fact and I **still** haven't sorted my feelings. I just…"

"Just what?"

"I just don't want him to move out, he's my friend."

More silence

Sherlock smirked.

"Well, aren't you smart, interrogating me while I'm still a bit drunk, leaning more over to the hung over side now."

The DI rolled his eyes at the man, really, it was too early to deal with the brilliant brunette.

"-sigh- Just get up, wash up, get dressed and meet me in the kitchen."

"What for? I'm in no condition to tutor NSY on how to solve a case."

"Just do it to be decent, and you'll need a strong cup of-"

"Tea would be lovely, thanks." Sherlock brushed him off

"No, not strong enough."

"You could pour in some whiskey, make it strong that way."

"No, you need a strong cup of coffee."

"Black with two sugars."

* * *

Sherlock walks into the kitchen, fresh from the shower but feeling the affects of the night before as he plopped his self on to a chair. He raised brow at finding The DI on his laptop.

"Going over my search history Detective? Don't you need a warrant for that?"

"Not exactly."

Greg turned the laptop around, shocking Sherlock at who was on the screen, a clearly annoyed looking John.

"-sigh- You're an idiot."

"John?"

"You haven't paid attention to any thing I've said the past few weeks, have you?"

Silence from Sherlock as he was confused, looking at Greg for a clue but John got his attention.

"Because if you were, you would know that I'm not moving out, in fact, Mary is moving in."

"She's moving in?"

"Yes, had you been listening, you would also know that after our honeymoon, she's going on a year long tour, since she's is retiring from singing and she's going to be a music teacher at an all girl's school."

Sherlock took a moment to process this new information.

"So… you're not moving out?"

"No."

"But… the flat has no room for your spawn."

John smiled and shook his head.

"Only you would called children _spawn_. Again, Sherlock, had you been listening, you would know that Mary is infertile; she can't have children."

"Then why bother getting married?"

"Because we love each other and maybe we wanted to show that to the world in some far too expensive party with the traditional trading of rings?"

"Rings… an object of sentiment but also an object of possession."

John sighed again.

"Yes, fine, whatever, look, Lestrade told me about your… thoughts about me moving out and I'm here to tell you that I'm not moving out, but Mary _will_ be moving in."

"Consider your self lucky that I can tolerate her." Sherlock dulled out.

"I'll pass that on, thanks."

Silence fell but Sherlock felt at ease, John wasn't moving.

"Where's Mary?" Sherlock inquired.

"In the shower."

"Oh, had a pleasant night with Mrs. Watson?"

"That's not your business." The doctor gave him a playful glare.

"I've already deduced that you didn't."

"Then why bother asking?"

"Just being polite."

John laughed out loud which eventually made Sherlock laugh, he felt better to know that John wasn't moving out; he still had his friend.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Even if I were moving out, we would still be friends and I would still go on cases with you and chase down criminals. I would not miss out on that."

Sherlock grinned.

'He's my friend.'

* * *

**Author's Note:** Did this fic due to the drama about John and Mary's wedding, and I wanted to take a platonic route with the Johnlock ship. Review if you want.


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